PinkSugar Dreams
by Tasogare-Taichou
Summary: HitsugayaxYachiru. Written as a gift request for a friend, who wanted to so a wonderfully amusing look at these two together.


Title: Pink-sugar Dreams  
Fandom: Bleach  
Characters: Hitsugaya Toushirou, Kusajishi Yachiru  
Rating: PG, maybe. Pretty innocent.  
Theme: Meeting the family.  
Disclaimer: Bleach isn't mine.

Summary: This was a request done for my pal Senbonzakura77, who wanted to see YachiruxHitsugaya in an amusing light. Enjoy, Sen. ^__^

Standing alone in the mid-morning sunshine, he couldn't help the slight nervous shifting of waraji-clad feet against the polished wood. A single bead of sweat made it's way lazily down the back of his neck until it hit the already-damp collar of his shihakushou as the white-haired young man set his teeth against the skin of his inner lip. Brushing imaginary -- he knew it wasn't really there, but that didn't do anything for his confidence - dust from his sleeve, he readjusted the heavy white fabric of the haori over his shoulders, taking comfort in the familiar weight of Hyourinmaru resting across his shoulder-blades.

It was moronic, to think that someone of his reputation, his power, someone who had fought toe to toe with some of the greatest in Soul Society and _against_ some of the most powerful enemies they had known could be struck with such apprehension over something so trivial. At least... he kept telling himself it was trivial, but that didn't make the door wih it's painted sigil look any more inviting. Running one hand through spikey white hair, he took a step back to announce himself, mentally cursing the way his voice cracked on the last word. At least Matsumoto wasn't around right now to tease him about "growing up". In fact, she wasn't around at all, having taken off with hardly a word to him as she'd dragged the pink-haired fukutaichou of the eleventh off for what she called a "girl-bonding-day". Hitsugaya had at least _some_ vague idea of what that entailed, but the finer details were a question he was going to stay far away from.

Thoughts of Matsumoto and Yachiru -- as well as whatever havoc they were likely causing when turned loose together -- abruptly fled his mind with all the speed of a low-level Hollow running from a shinigami captain as the seam down the center of the eleventh division sigil split with a loud creak as the double doors slowly opened outward. Swallowing, the white-haired adolescent clenched fists by his side as the heavy panels swung open to reveal the smugly grinning faces of Madarame Ikkaku and Ayasegawa Yumichika, each looming in an almost menacing fashion on one side of the doorway. They stood like that for a moment before Ikkaku turned to his partner with a chuckle, Houzukimaru's sheathed length swung across his shoulders.

"Well whatta ya know, it looks like lil' Toushirou's grown up a bit."

Answering with his own mirthful chuckle, the fifth seat ran one carefully-manicured -- sheesh, the man had nicer nails than Matsumoto, it was almost creepy -- hand through his immaculate dark hair as he hooked the fingers of his other hand carefully into the ties of his hakama.

"Indeed. I think Toushirou-chan even got a bit taller, don't you?"

It took all of his willpower -- not to mention the mental reminder of exactly _why_ he was here -- not to scowl at them and remind them that A. he outranked them and B. that it was "Hitsugaya-taichou" and not "Toushirou-chan" or any other such derivative and that they'd do well to remember that. Instead, he simply gritted his teeth at their teasing. It wasn't as though their remarks weren't valid. He _had_ grown, about 6 or 7 inches in the last 10 years or so -- though still short, to his chagrin -- and while he was still thin, he'd at least managed to fill out a little bit. It was enough that at least he no longer looked like a 10-year old, as far as he was concerned. And he wasn't the only one who'd grown. _Or_ the one whose growth had been the most notable.

While he'd gotten taller, slipped past that mark of early adolescence -- at least in regards to his appearance -- the one whose transformation had been an even greater shock had been the pink-haired fukutaichou of the very same division he was now striding through. Kusajishi Yachiru, no longer the elfin little child riding around on Zaraki's shoulders. Well... she still rode on his shoulders, but the addition of 8 years or so of physical aging to her frame, she'd changed dramatically from the bubbly little 6-year old girl to an equally-bubbly girl on the cusp of adolescence.  
Her personality hadn't really changed all that much, to be truthful. She was still irritatingly cheerful, almost obliviously fun-loving, and as prone to explosions of pent-up energy as she'd ever been. But the years -- and the maturity -- had tempered her a bit, and it wasn't nearly so hard to see the woman that the little girl would one day become. Which.... was why he was here. Hitsugaya gritted his teeth against the warmth he could feel rising up in his cheeks as Ikkaku laughed and leaned in closer to -- to the 10th squad captain's chagrin and distaste -- ruffle his white hair with one large hand, for all the world as though he were still a child.

"Na, Yumichika, isn't it just so cuuuute? Lil' Toushirou's sweet on the fukutaichou."

The bald man's smirk grew even wider as his eyes narrowed menacingly, with all the look of a cat stalking it's wounded prey as he nodded slightly towards the hallway in front of them. Yumichika grinned in return, one hand sweeping out in a gesture that clearly indicated that they keep walking, his arrogant voice intoned with mirth as he nodded.

"Yes, it does seem that the beauteous flower of love has indeed come to blossom in Hitsugaya-kun's heart. Now all that's left is to see if Taichou will give his gracious permission for their courtship."

Oh yes, he was absolutely _certain_ that his face was now -- if it hadn't been already -- roughly the colour of Yachiru's hair as he gritted his teeth. It wasn't enough that Yumichika's ridiculous way of speaking was in and itself the source of contact embarassment even when it _wasn't_ directed at him, the situation was just made all the more mortifying by the fact that they were right. That _was_ technically why he was here. Or rather, he was here because Zaraki-taichou had made a rather set-in-stone demand that Hitsugaya report to the eleventh division quarters not too long after the situation had come to light.

Squaring his shoulders against his embarassment, he glowered at the two of them with a growl.

"Can we get this over with?"

Thankfully, they seemed to agree with him as they set an easy pace down the hallway, even though they persisted in their teasing as the trio walked. Gritting his teeth, Hitsugaya simply tried to push their jibes from his mind the same way he pushed much of Matsumoto's babble from his mind at times, searching for the inner calm he normally enjoyed. It didn't work as well as he thought it would, as his mind instead began turning over events that had led to his present situation, but at least he couldn't really hear them anymore.

It was Yachiru's fault, if he really wanted to blame someone other than himself. After all, _she'd_ been the one who'd kissed him.

Unexpectedly, during one of the many times he'd found himself -- again, against his will -- accompanying her to someplace or another in search of her favourite sweets or some other little trinket. Why the girl had attached herself to him was a mystery, he could only assume it had something to do with the fact that as she'd grown she'd finally started to realize that maybe she should make friends her own age because -- in his opinion -- it was a little bit weird for the only friends a little kid had to be a bunch of grown men. However, that she should select _him_ to be her new best friend -- second to her beloved Ken-chan, of course -- was not what he'd counted on. In fact, it was singularly the most annoying thing that the young captain could think of.

Older or not, Yachiru was still Yachiru, and after roughly three weeks of bouncy, overexhuberant company he'd finally rounded on her and demanded to know why she persisted in following him around. That his question had been answered by a bemused look, a shrug, and a chipper "don't know" surprised him not in the least, and gradually he'd grown used to the little pink spot of sunshine that had carved her place into his life. But then, she'd kissed him. And everything had shattered into chaos again.

He'd gotten her icecream -- more to shut her up than because he really felt like it -- and they'd been standing there amidst the shade of the trees, escaping the blistering summer heat when all of a sudden she'd giggled, tossed a lock of long rose-hued curls over her shoulder, and leaned up on tiptoe to press her lips to his. He, of course, had simply frozen in place, too stunned to even respond. Not that his lack of response seemed to bother Yachiru, as she'd simply winked at him and turned her attentions back to the chocolate icecream cone in her small hand.

After that afternoon, he'd avoided her for nearly 2 weeks while his mind tried to puzzle out all the intricacies and ramifications and possible meanings that all went along with Kusajishi Yachiru kissing him. He could come up with a handful of reasons, all of which made just about as much sense to him as the idea of Kuchiki-taichou wearing a dress. Maybe she was just playing around. Or maybe she was just imitating something she'd seen someone else do. Maybe it was some sort of game. The idea that she might _like_ him that way was an idea he didn't even bother to entertain. It was just too... out there.

His own feelings, on the other hand, were a bit more confusing. Despite his arguements to the contrary, he couldn't argue that he'd grown... _fond_ of her. That he'd come to look forward to the rush of black cloth and pink hair as she sailed into his life every day -- normally with a good deal of collateral. It was... nice. He'd once had that sort of feeling with Hinamori, when they'd been younger, and truthfully he'd always thought to himself that one day perhaps his gentle friend would see him the way he saw her. But all of that had changed, like so much else, when Aizen Sousuke betrayed them. And Hinamori Momo had never truly recovered from the trauma of her former captain's betrayal. She simply... faded, until she'd become a softly-smiling shell of her former self. She was released from her service to the Gotei-13, and he and the others had been forced to watch as the girl they knew locked herself up into a mental shadow-world. A world where her beloved Aizen-taichou still walked witha smile on his face.

He himself had been forced to concede that his friend -- along with whatever feelings he may have possessed for her -- was lost to him now, lost to Aizen's malign seductions and velvet-veiled promises. It had been hard, much harder than he would have thought, to reconcile the reality with what he wanted -- his friend back -- but he'd managed. He could even, if he thought about it hard, admit to himself that perhaps it was kinder, really. Kinder to let her linger in her rose-tinted fantasies, she who was so fragile of spirit.

Hinamori's condition, his own dusty ambitions for the two of them, those were comfortable. They were things he knew, things he'd counted on for a long time. But now, there was something else to consider. Something with laughing brown eyes, long candy-coloured hair, and an irrepressible sweetness that somehow managed to bring a shaft of brightness into his life. Who had managed to reach the lump of ice that he'd assumed his heart had long-since turned to.

At least, that was the best assumption he could come up with for why, the next time he found himself cheerfully tackled to the ground in a sudden and exhuberant show of affection nearly a month later, he also found himself kissing her back.

And thus here he was, walking down the corridors of the eleventh division offices -- undoubtably towards his doom -- upon a summons that was more like a demand from the intimidating -- and oft terrifying -- "father" of the girl he'd only recently realized he loved, for purposes unknown to him. Maybe Zaraki wanted to talk things over, or more likely maybe he wanted to use Hitsugaya's head for his latest practice target. Either way, the young man doubted the results would be in his favour.

HIs musings were interrupted by the abrupt stop as his "companions" halted in front of what he knew had to be Zaraki's door. If the reiatsu leaking out hadn't tipped him off already, the way both officers straightened up just slightly before the wooden barrier was all the evidence he needed. Swallowing, he raised his hand to knock, gritting his teeth against the low snickers that accompanied his actions. Obviously, they seemed to think this the most amusing of things. Growling slightly under his breath, he at least managed to keep from jumping as -- before his knuckles had even struck the door -- the deep, resonating voice of Zaraki Kenpachi boomed from beyond the door.

"Quit stalling. It's open."

Taking a deep breath -- his hopes that the two would just leave off so he could get this over with in peace were pointless, they just followed him as though he were the center attraction to a very amusing show -- he set his jaw and pushed the door open, walking through. It was nearly as bad as he'd expected it to be; the room that seemed somehow a good deal smaller and more like the cage it was, the menacing bulk of the man inhabiting it taking up prominent place at the "desk" -- really, to call it a desk was laughable. It was more a pile of pillows on the floor beside a low wooden table -- behind which he lounged, everything about his manner exhuding the lethality of him, despite the casualness of his relaxed posture. One hand propped up his head, the other fingered the hilt of the sword, twirling it slightly as the point of the blade ground it's way into the floor beside him.

On the other side of the low table, there was another cushion, this one sitting alone and unoccupied and obviously intended for his person. He mentally steeled himself, forcing leaden feet to move as he made his way across the floor, being sure to move in as relaxed a manner as he possibly could and resisting the urge to run one hand through his hair. A nervous gesture, it would give him away as surely as anything else he did. Kenpachi was nearly impossible to read, but that was nothing new, hardly anything to fret over, but that didn't mean it wasn't disconcerting to watch that one eye follow him with all the likeness of a predator stalking it's prey.

Hitsugaya settled himself down onto his knees on the cushion, back ramrod straight as he stared straight ahead, trying to gauge what was in store for him. Combat? That was certainly the other man's style, and while no one _wanted_ to fight Zaraki-taichou, neither would he be one to simply back down. He bit back the nervous swallow as the older man's eyes bored into him, resisting the urge to tense up as Zaraki shifted, one hand coming to rest on the edge of the table as he leaned forward, his scarred face widening into a grin.

"So.... Yachiru likes you, huh?"

The direct question wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. Honestly... he'd been more prepared for some sort of "to the death" challenge, where he'd be expected to prove his worth on the field of battle or some other such idiocy. Frowning slightly, he blinked green eyes a few times as his mind worked to process what he considered to be a surprisingly calm response from Zaraki, only to jump in surprise as an arm suddenly hooked beneath his own on either side. With a half-yelp of surprise he glanced up at the grinning faces of Ikkaku and Yumichika, each one of them effectively restraining one of his upper limbs, a rather ominous gleam in their eyes.

"What the...?"

With a resounding clunk, Zaraki slammed a large earthenware jug down onto the table hard enough to set the few knicknacks rattling and the bottle of ink tottering right off the edge to spill in a slick pool of black across the tatami floor to snake towards the cushion where his guest sat. To his credit, Hitsugaya's attention was held less by the ink sliding towards the pristine white of his haori and more by the black kanji emblazoned on the side of the brown crockery. He tried to back up, eyes widening as the trio simply grinned wider, the arms tightening around his own as Zaraki's low voice drawled.

"Let's see what the little stuffed-shirt's _really_ made of."

Any protests from the young captain were easily muffled by the heavy doors and the laughter of his "tormentors".

When the two women returned, several hours later, they couldn't help but giggle at the sight they were greeted with. To find Ikkaku and Yumichika sprawled amidst a jumble of empty sake bottles, often in their underwear, was nothing short of normal. Finding Zaraki-taichou with them was uncommon but not unheard of; the big man had such a tolerance that the others seldom tried to out-drink him. But it was the inclusion of one under-dressed, red-faced -- he was out cold too, but then so were all of them by that time -- white-haired teenage captain that Matsumoto and Yachiru found the most amusing out of the whole mess.


End file.
